Superman: Hope
by peterparkersgirlfriend
Summary: A traumatic experience has left Lois Lane in a state of hopelessness. But can a symbol of good - a Superman - restore that hope? And what is her new co-worker, Clark Kent, hiding? Join Lois in this re-imagined Superman origin story, in which Lois and the Man of Steel combat the corrupt Lex Luthor and other mysterious villains! Slow burn Clois. Considerable violence inside. AU.
1. Prologue - Day of Change

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING. DC OWNS EVERYTHING.**

**A/N:**

**Hello! I know that I have another fanfic that I need to finish, and everyone who's reading that probably hates me for starting a new one when the other one has been left at a cliffhanger...but I couldn't resist writing this. **

**There is a despicable, unacceptable scarcity of Clois fics on the internet. So I decided to make my own. It's an AU, I guess. It's based on the comics, Smallville, the DCAU, the Superman Movies, Man of Steel, and about a hundred other things. So just take it as a new origin story for Superman. I'll figure out a name for this universe some other time. **

**It'll be multiple chapters. However, I must warn that my updating may be quite sporadic. It could take me over a month to post a new chapter. I'm super busy, despite my intense love for writing and Clois. **

**But let us begin! Prologue! This is a VERY dark and intense chapter soo...please be warned. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable.**

**Just some context: Superman has never made an official appearance at the beginning of the story. Lois is a young, twenty-something reporter at the Daily Planet who has already won her first Pulitzer. Clark Kent...well, you'll find out what he's up to. Lex Luthor is a billionaire weapons mogul. Other heroes do exist in this universe, and they MIGHT make an appearance if I find time to write a sequel. **

**(p.s. if you're wondering about Qurac and Biyala I'd consult the Young Justice wiki)**

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><p><strong>Summary: A traumatic experience has since left Lois Lane in a state of hopelessness. But can a symbol of good - a Man of Steel...a Superman - restore it? And just what does her new co-worker, Clark Kent, have to do with it? Join Lois in this new, reimagined Superman origin story! <strong>

_PROLOGUE: DAY OF CHANGE_

Lois still hasn't acclimated to the warmth. The sun beats down on her mercilessly, and she prays for a cloud at least - just to blot out the daylight for a short, blissful moment. Of course, that would barely cool the arid atmosphere that surrounds her - the air that bakes her skin and cracks her lips.

An hour ago, Tom - her inexperienced, substitute photographer - swore that these were the worst conditions he has ever experienced. Lois nearly laughed derisively. Sure, the heat was and is _still_ scorching. But investigative journalist Lois Lane has trekked through dense rainforests, climbed freezing mountains, and confronted international criminals. Heat is one thing she can definitely handle.

Not that she wishes for temperatures like these. She admits that a few clouds and a little rain would be nice - amazing, even.

Nevertheless, they continue snapping pictures and interviewing villagers, wiping away sweat and trying to forget their fatigue. They both desperately need a shower, but Lois is far too determined to stop for something as trivial as that.

Lois and Tom arrived in Qurac - a small, democratic country in the Middle East- a couple weeks ago. Their trip is certainly not a vacation. In fact, its cause is rather grim, seeing as they are investigating the massacres of several villages near the Quraci border. These heinous acts are grossly undercovered in the news, and Lois plans to change that fact through her job at the Daily Planet. By visiting Qurac, she hopes to find the culprits of the murders and bring them to justice - while incidentally making headlines along the way.

Lois suspects that mercenaries sent from Bialya - Qurac's neighboring country - are behind it all. Bialya is notorious for its belligerence, and has been trying to annex Qurac for years. It was only logical to guess that the massacres act as an ultimatum toward the Quraci government for its...lack of cooperation with Bialya.

There is no proof to support her suspicions just yet. And without proof, it would be impossible to achieve any U.N. intervention, or publish a legitimate story.

So Lois took the initiative. She told her editor about the potential of the story, and as a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, he wasn't inclined to deny her. The only real setback she faced was Jimmy Olsen's contraction of the flu, which thus left her without her favorite photographer. But she found a replacement and boarded the plane nonetheless.

Now, after a two-week road trip down the Quraci border, she has finally arrived at a small but heavily populated town. It is a welcome change, given the blood-stained, decimated villages she just visited for her story.

Here, there are children running in the streets, enjoying what the populace calls (to Lois's disbelief) "nice weather". A colorful marketplace stretches down an entire street. It is brimming with people as they trade goods, and to Lois's relief, there are many people who speak English. She has struggled with the unique Quraci language for weeks with limited success, and it feels good to use her native tongue again.

Just as she finishes interviewing a middle-aged woman about the country's relations with Bialya, Lois's cell phone begins to ring shrilly. The caller is predictable, but unavoidable. She then excuses herself, thanking the woman and telling Tom to wait for her somewhere, before walking to the outskirts of the little village, where it is much quieter.

She looks out into the nearby desert, which is an expanse of empty, sandy land. It might be beautiful to some people, but not her. Lois is accustomed to city life, not a natural, harsh setting such as thus. Besides, there simply is not enough shade, and she is forced to shield her eyes as she returns her call, seeing as it had long gone to voicemail during her uphill trek to the outskirts. But she couldn't answer it in the middle of the village...not when one considers who she is calling.

Her boyfriend - Lex Luthor. He is the billionaire CEO of a major corporation, which is not something she should mention in a town of people that are most likely suffering economically. Frankly, it's not something she should mention _anywhere_, unless she felt entirely safe. The last thing Lois wants is to held for ransom in a foreign country.

Lex picks up on the second ring, and he does not waste time with pleasantries.

"Lois? Where are you?" Lex demands. There is honking in the background, so Lois assumes that he is stuck in Metropolis traffic. But she knows that is not the reason he sounds so irritable.

There is a beat, during which she considers lying. She was supposed to fly back today, but instead she decided to stay - hoping to see the story through. Lex is probably furious. Maybe he even waited for her at the airport.

"I'm...working on my tan," she replies finally, deciding against deceit and going with playful crypticism instead.

He sighs audibly - further evidence of his irritation. He has probably guessed at her true location. "I thought you were supposed to be _leaving_ Qurac by now. It's not safe there, you know."

He always talks like this, she notices. Like he knows so much more than she does. It makes her feel small and stupid, and a part of her realizes that this trip's purpose wasn't just to pursue a story, but to escape Lex as well. It's probably why she didn't tell him that she was leaving in the first place. The only notification he received was a half-hearted email from the airport.

In truth, it is hypocritical to be so evasive around Lex simply because she dislikes his personality - especially when he and Lois share many of the same traits. They are both overly arrogant and ambitious, and talk like they know it. This behavior is probably why they were attracted to each other in the first place...why he asked her out during her first interview with him. And yes, he is charming and handsome, in his own unique way. But now that the glamor of dating a billionaire has worn off, Lois is starting to have second-thoughts about their relationship.

She'll never admit that her reluctance is _because_ of their similarities. The qualities they share are the ones that she hates most in herself, and she can't find a way to accept them in her own personality, let alone his.

But she knows she should keep trying to make it work. Her father wants it. She should want it. So she continues letting him be her ball-and-chain, and pretends to enjoy it.

"C'mon, Lex. You can't find good stories in the comfort of an office."

"How long until you leave?" he asks tersely, not even bothering to ask if she's made any progress. He never does.

Lois shrugs, feeling all too trapped in her canvas-material clothes, which make the heat all the more suffocating. "I don't know. Whenever the truth comes out, I guess."

She can almost feel him rolling his eyes. "Does danger mean nothing to you? Staying there could get you _killed_."

"Me?" she says in mock indignation. "This little army brat can take care of herself. I'm practically invincible. In fact, I'm actually offended by your lack of faith in me."

"Come home. I mean it."

"You didn't say 'please,' you jerk."

It is not uncommon for her to insult him like this. He probably thinks it is mere playfulness - a tease. But that was only true in the beginning. Now, a part of Lois actually means it. After all, he's not requesting or even asking her to come home. He is _demanding_.

Lex huffs, like it is beneath him to beg. "_Please_, Lois."

She knows it hurts his dignity to plead with her. And if he decided to do so anyway, it must mean that he cares for her a lot. That should mean something, shouldn't it?

She searches for a proper way to respond. Should she agree to come home? Perhaps. But would she really do that, even if she promises? A part of her thinks not. Maybe she should just tell him she's staying, no matter what he wants.

Lois makes up her mind, and just as she is about to speak, she hears something that completely interrupts her train of thought.

A gunshot. From the village.

"What was that?" Lex yells, alarmed, from the other end.

Concerned with other matters, she hangs up the phone and shoves it into her pocket, spinning around to find the source of the noise.

Suddenly, hundreds of gunshots fill the air, as do a chorus of frantic screams.

Before she even registers what she is doing, Lois is running toward the village, her feet kicking up plumes of desert dust behind her. Her mind is frantic and fearful, and she prays that she has gone crazy - that nothing has happened at all, and she is imagining those horrible sounds.

But she knows what's really going on. She's too cynical to hope for the best.

It is only a short, downhill distance to the center of town, and when Lois arrives, she is horrified by what she sees.

A group of men, each one armed with a machine gun, are raiding the town, shooting indiscriminately. There is a truck in the distance, obscured by airborne dust; it is presumably the transport of the attackers, given the Bialyian flag waving from its antenna.

They are not just mercenaries, she realizes. They are extremist nationalists.

She continues running, desperate to find Tom. As she sprints, she fishes her cell phone out of her pocket and snaps a photo of the truck, hoping that it will be sufficient evidence. It's blurry from distance, but it's all she can manage.

Lois then heads to the shop where she left Tom, yelling his name as she wanders. Her lungs burn from exertion, fear, dust, and heat. Meanwhile, screams drown out any coherent, calming thought she attempts to create. There is too much chaos in the Marketplace for her to think clearly, and too much danger.

The armed Bialyian men are a only a hundred yards away, and approaching fast. It seems the fearful screams from the crowded Marketplace only make it a greater target, and Lois stands smack in the middle of it.

God, she should have gone home when she had the chance. Coming here was a mistake.

But she needs to find Tom. Needs to help these people.

Lois feels unprotected, and silently curses the laws that prohibit the wielding of firearms within Qurac. It seems almost ridiculous, especially considering the danger the country consistently faces from Bialya.

More than anything, though, she curses these armed men.

Lois reaches the door of shop just as they enter the marketplace. _BABABABABUM_. A spray of bullets go off nearby, and guilt burns at the bit of her stomach - a result of her helplessness. But she does not look. All she knows is that they're not upon her...yet.

Tom is nowhere in sight, and the door of the shop is sealed. She proceeds to pound on it, continuing to yell his name as she does so.

There is no response from inside. Maybe it is better that way. They're safer in there than out here, right? Hell, maybe Tom has left the town entirely.

Lois backs away from the door, now searching desperately for a place to hide, terror like electricity in her veins. Yes, she has been in danger before...but she always had some degree of control. Protection. A gun. A harness. A piece of information to use as blackmail. Right now, she has _nothing_.

Her mind moves too frantically as she considers her options. Breaking down the door? No. She might expose people inside.

Climb up the building? No. The wall is too smooth.

There might be a cellar in the back of the shop, with an emergency exit. She could probably break in...pick the lock. Yes. That's a good plan.

Just as she is about to run behind the building, she spots a little girl across the street, hiding beneath a cart of goods. The girl's eyes are wide - terrified - and she winces as the bullets continue to fire, deafeningly close now.

Lois glances down the street, where the men are mere feet away. If she is going to run, she must do it now. There is a sharp pang in her heart as she realizes that she will not have time to drag the girl along. If she runs to her, Lois will reveal them both - and that would result in certain death.

Her heart is beating like a drum, and it throbs in her arms...her throat…her head.

_There's no time_, she thinks as the men grow ever closer, walking through the now-abandoned marketplace undeterred. Once they get close enough, they will see the little girl, and probably Lois too.

Lois can't move. Not with that little girl frozen under the cart.

As his comrades kick their way into houses, eliminating the inhabitants, a man in the group points to that same cart. He says something in Bialyian before running forward, his gun raised.

Lois is still concealed behind a little column on the shop's veranda, but the girl was seen. It was over.

Once the man gets within spitting distance, some sort of animal instinct takes over the girl, and she scrambles out from under the cart, screaming for help. The man runs a bit faster to catch up with her, his eyes level with his gun to aim properly. The weapon cocks. He is about to shoot.

Just as the girl passes her, Lois darts out from behind the column, shielding the girl with her body. The girl keeps sprinting, but yells a warning to her - telling her of danger. Lois knows, of course, but does not heed her words. She just wants to slow him down.

The man reaches Lois a few moments later, and he is taken aback by her boldness and hesitates for a good five seconds - enough time for him to forget about the girl, and focus on the target in front of him. When he begins to shoot, Lois expects it and ducks to the side, the bullets narrowly missing her. There is some timber off to her right, and she lunges at him with it in hand. Luckily, the blow makes it - smacking him in the head - and he staggers backwards before falling ungracefully to the ground.

Exhaling shakily, Lois turns and tries to run after the girl. Perhaps she will make it. Perhaps the girl will too.

Just as hope reappears, a boom echoes through the marketplace, and a bullet tears through the skin of Lois's shoulder, causing her to cry out. She ignores the pain as she keeps running, briefly looking back as she does so. It appears that the man has sat up, and that the bullet came from his gun - a gun that is now clearly out of bullets, as indicated by its inability to fire further.

But the pain in Lois's wound is distractingly excruciating, and before long she is falling - falling forever, it seems. Something caused her to trip; what it was, she'll never know.

When she lands, it is hard and face-first. The sand she topples upon is not nearly as soft as it seems. It proceeds to smash into her skull like any other blunt instrument - except these tiny rocks are sun warmed, and they _burn_.

The head injury is the worst, though. Lois can feel her mind growing foggy...going unconscious. She cannot bring herself to move, and is only vaguely aware of the blood pooling around her shoulder - a testament to the time that she is quickly losing.

Lois's face is still pressed against the ground, and a desperate part of her screams internally, implacably horrified that she is dying in darkness...that she cannot look at the sun. The same sun that was there when she went to school in Metropolis, or when she got her first job there. The same that rose when she won her first Pulitzer.

Instead, she can only look at this foreign, scorching sand. And even that fades to black.

_TO BE CONTINUED..._


	2. Chapter One - Hopeless

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N:**

**Sorry you guys. That was pretty intense, like I said. But it will be lighter fare from here. **

**Here's the next chapter!**

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><p><em><span>CHAPTER ONE - HOPELESS<span>_

_5 MONTHS LATER…METROPOLIS..._

"Well, doc, I guess it all started when I found out I was allergic to cats," Lois drawls sarcastically. Disinterest is quite evident in her voice, and is only further indicated by her posture. She stares at the tile ceiling, her body sprawled casually on the leather couch in her new therapist's office. It's the kind of ceiling schools have, she thinks. The soundproof kind.

_Maybe it's so no one hears the screams of the crazy people_, Lois jokes internally; but she doesn't dare say it aloud. This therapist woman is far too strict for her own good.

"Ms. Lane, you need to take this seriously," the Dr. Anderson reminds her with irritation, staring at her patient from across the coffee table. The woman wears her glasses on the tip of her nose, and Lois wonders if it is just to create a perception of enhanced intelligence. If anything, though, Lois thinks it looks tacky.

"It _is_ serious, doc. I love cats. But alas, it is a forbidden love."

The therapist rubs her temples. "Lois, your father tells me that you've been having nightmares, flashbacks, and paranoia. Those are _textbook_ symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder. It's not something to joke about."

Lois sits up suddenly, narrowing her eyes. Her voice is caustic when she replies.

"Lady, I was _shot_. You'd have nightmares too. But it's really not that bad - trust me."

The therapist's tone is neutral, and she begins writing on a notepad. "Perhaps. But your experiences are affecting your ability to function, are they not?."

"Please, doc," Lois groans. "I'm functioning just fine, thank you very much."

She gestures to her outfit, which consists of a spanking new pantsuit. "I'm picking out my own clothes - cute ones, at that. I do my hair in the morning. Hell, I even baked cookies last week, and I never bake."

"But do you sleep well?"

It's no use lying to this woman, of course. Anyone could see the bags under Lois's eyes, despite the makeup she has caked on to hide them. But such effects are not the result of an inability to sleep. The nightmares - those are her real problem.

Every night, she relives her experience in the village. The gunshots and the gunmen. The blood pooling around her as she lies face-down, suffocating in darkness. She even sees the things she never experienced - the men killing Tom and almost everyone in the village. Her attacker stepping over her body, believing that she is dead. The Quraci military, expectant of another attack, arriving to find that they are too late, and that only few survivors remain.

And Lois, somehow, was one of the few. She does not know if she should feel grateful. She does not know whether she deserved to live. But a hospital in Qurac was inexplicably able to revive her, so she still persists, despite expectations.

"I thought so," the therapist says quietly. "You're terrified of what happened, and that's okay. But in order for you to start functioning properly, you need to be psychologically debriefed. That's what I'm here for. That's why your father sent you here."

_Terrified_? Lois thinks. _That's all she chalks it up to? Terror? _

Suddenly, anger explodes out of her, and she stands to face Dr. Anderson directly.

"I'm not having nightmares because I'm _scared_, you idiot," Lois yells. "I'm having nightmares because children and families were murdered in cold blood, and the culprits haven't been caught! I'm having nightmares because Bialya and the weapons contractors that sold to them never faced consequences! Most of all - I'm having nightmares because people are _dead_ and here I am, winning a damn Pulitzer because the world feels sorry for me, but not sorry enough to do anything to stop the violence."

Lois sinks back down on the couch, exhausted from her tirade. She is vaguely aware that she seems like a crazy person, screaming like that. It is especially ironic considering the joke she made to herself, only a few minutes before.

Dr. Anderson scrawls something else on the notepad. "Angry outbursts. Another sign of PTSD."

"Look...it's not that," Lois sighs. "I just feel...hopeless."

"That's normal for people with this condition."

"No, you don't get it. I don't mean 'hopeless' in some sort of cliche, 'I hate my life' kind of way. I'm fed up with the apathy and the killing. And I'm tired of reporting it to people who barely give half a damn."

Lois then asks offhandedly: "You ever get the feeling that the world's going to hell?"

Dr. Anderson smirks slightly, as if she is amused. "Why? Are you religious?"

"That's not what I mean," Lois replies, dismissing the therapist's theory. "I mean...do you ever get the feeling that we - the human race - are digging our own graves? Because it sure feels that way to me."

Before the therapist can answer, a shrill timer goes off on her phone. Their hour together is up. Lois stands in relief, smoothing out her new pantsuit and throwing her bag over her shoulder, before heading to the door.

"I suppose that you're going to force me to come back, right?" Lois says, glancing back from the threshold to eye the other woman carefully.

Dr. Anderson stands as well, and meets her patient at the exit. "I can't force you to do anything. And to be honest, I'm not sure I can help you at all."

"Wow, doc. How can you expect to make a buck without properly advertising yourself? Aren't you supposed to suggest fifty different expensive treatments? Tell me that weekly appointments have life-and-death importance?" Lois jokes with her signature sarcasm.

"Ms. Lane, I get the feeling that fear and trauma are not the root of your problem. Cynicism is. I can't talk you out of well-founded anger, or logical distrust. I can't talk you into feeling optimistic."

"I've never been optimistic, doc. I was born a pessimist. For me, the glass wasn't just half empty. It was enough water to drown someone with, if necessary. My mind is as dark as they come."

The doctor chuckles a bit as she opens the door to her office, gesturing for Lois to leave.

"I do have some advice for you, though," Dr. Anderson calls as Lois leaves, and the second woman turns back, expectant.

"I encourage you to find something to believe in. Something that gives you hope for the future. Otherwise...well...you'll probably just keep reliving the past."

Lois scoffs and continues walking away, utterly unaffected by the cheesy counsel. "I'll get right on that, doc. See you around."

The door of the office shuts behind her.

_TO BE CONTINUED..._


	3. Chapter Two - The Old Routine

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N**

**So how are you liking it so far?**

**I wanted something with quite a bit of drama, and maybe something that added a little more depth to the (EVENTUAL) Clark and Lois relationship. **

**Speaking of the big blue boy scout, guess who gets his first appearance? **

**In fact, there's a lot of famous characters in this chapter. Hope you like!**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><span><em>CHAPTER TWO: THE OLD ROUTINE<em>

Lois stares at herself in the mirror, pulling the collar of her blouse to the side. It reveals the bullet wound - small, but angrily red. Unfortunately, the doctors in Qurac said that the scar will never fully fade. But Lois isn't sure she minds. She's alive while a hundred others are dead - a scar seems like a small price.

But her eyes are nonetheless drawn to it all the time, like she has to confirm that it's just a wound, not a black hole that threatens to swallow her up. A black hole that seeks to correct the mistake of her survival.

Unwilling to think morbid thoughts any longer, Lois glances at her wall, where her Pulitzer prize winning stories are hung. Looking at her first one used to give her relief, especially in trying times. But now that the second one hangs next to it, she only feels more unhappy.

"_INVASION OF QURAC?" _it reads. "_BIALYAN NATIONALISTS MASSACRE HUNDREDS._"

It is no surprise that she won the Pulitzer for it. The bullet she received probably generated enough sympathy among the jurors to get it a decent look-over. Maybe that fact was singularly responsible for her win, even as a last minute entry.

But...perhaps she does not give herself enough credit. In her opinion, it _is_ her best writing yet. Every word is brimming with emotion and dripping with cold, tragic facts. Of course, anyone would write something that good if they underwent a long-term hospitalization in a foreign country - a foreign country with no cable, she might add. Boredom produces some of the best masterpieces.

Guilt still eats at her, nonetheless. She took the murders of innocent people and made a story out of it. Won an award because they died. Gained international recognition and sympathy, her face plastered across papers, instead of her name in the bylines. It's simply unfair, and Lois knows it.

The realization of this fact kept her from the journalism game for a little while, and she took a leave of absence under the excuse of recovering from trauma. It was a matter of principle, really. A break from the reality that she has reported on for so long - the reality that decided to kill a whole village and shoot her in the shoulder.

But now it is time to re enter her old routine - find some normalcy, even in a world as brutal as the one she has come to know. So she pulls on her blazer, grabs her briefcase, and allows her spare press pass to fall over her neck. It hangs there like a reminder of the one left in Qurac - the one stained with blood and sand.

It is a noose around her neck, perhaps. To remind her of the ground, which will always be threatening to drop out from under her.

Lois turns back to the mirror once again, examining her outfit and straightening the collar that she pulled off-center. Yes, she looks fine. She's lost a little weight, perhaps, but not enough to be concerning or noticeable. The bags are still under her eyes of course...but there's nothing she can do about those.

But at least her hair looks nice. It is still the same sleek black color, and falls around her shoulders in loose waves. In fact, she might even look _beautiful _to some people. Lois wouldn't doubt such a reaction. She's never lacked confidence in her looks.

Sufficiently content, Lois leaves her apartment and closes the door behind her. It is time for her to go to work - to return to the place she used to love, and hopes she still loves: the Daily Planet.

Apparently, Lois is not the only one heading to work. A man - bulky but slouching, his head covered by a 1920s-style hat - is walking down the hallway toward the elevator. She's seen him before, but only in passing. All she knows is that he is new to the building, having moved into the adjacent apartment sometime during the two months Lois was recovering in Qurac.

It's no wonder why they haven't officially met. Lois has been cooped up in her apartment for weeks, or visiting her sister Lucy in Gotham. And if he works, there would probably be little opportunity for them to encounter one another.

Lois considers taking the stairs, just to avoid whatever awkward introduction she might have to make. But then she is overcome by sudden laziness, and decides against it. Besides, she could just stay silent, right?

"Hey! Hold the doors!" she calls, holding up her hand and running toward them.

The objects in question are just about to slide shut as she calls, but despite that, the man does not hesitate to stick his hands between them. The doors seem so likely to close that, for a moment, she fears that they might crush his fingers. Lucky for him, they detect his presence just in time and pull apart.

"Thanks," Lois mumbles, pushing a stray hair behind her ear before looking away pointedly. If she doesn't stare at him, he'll be less likely to strike up a conversation.

"No problem," he says.

The elevator then descends into awkward silence.

Normally, Lois hates silence, and she'll often find herself filling it by babbling or ranting mindlessly. But not now...now she tolerates the quietude for the sake of serenity and simplicity. She's never been the 'friendly neighbor' type, anyway, and she doesn't want him to get the wrong idea.

But the silence is broken anyway.

"Excuse me, but are you Lois Lane?" he asks, his voice mellow and affable.

Lois still avoids making eye contact. "Yeah...but why do _you_ know that?"

"Well, we're-" he begins, but she cuts him off, her eyes glued to the sleek, metal doors of the elevator.

"Do _not_ say neighbors. That's no excuse for prying into my personal business. I've never even met you before, so there is no '_we_.'"

Lois has lived in the city long enough to know about creepy guys. In fact, the last person who had lived in the apartment next to her was a drug dealer - and a perverted one, at that. She could barely enter her room without unwarranted, sexist comments. Luckily, she snapped photos of one of his exchanges, wrote a short article, and he was in jail a few hours later. The apartment remained unoccupied ever since - until this guy showed up, that is. And she's not about to trust _him_ either.

Unsurprisingly, her new 'neighbor' sounds taken aback when he responds, but his voice is careful nonetheless. "Of course not, Miss Lane. But what I'm trying to tell you is -"

By the grace of God, the doors of the elevator slide open with the ding. Lois does not even say goodbye as she runs from him - the man that she still has not looked at. Her new neighbor.

She will probably forget about him entirely. More likely than not, he'll never talk to her again - especially after her behavior toward him. But that's how she'd prefer their relationship: nonexistent.

"Daily Planet, corner of Fifth Street and Concord Lane," Lois says to the taxi driver that waits at the curb, right outside the entrance of her apartment complex. She pulls the door closed as she slides into the seat. "Make it snappy and I'll double the fee."

With that incentive, the driver slams on the gas, and the car is soon flinging away from the curb. They take off at high speeds and swing wildly around street corners, thus managing to avoid the rush hour traffic.

Lois doesn't really mind this sort of speed, despite the terror that most people might experience. It feels a bit like flying, actually - exhilarating. But she's sure that a cop wouldn't agree, so she reluctantly tells him to ease up a bit.

The taxi arrives at the Daily Planet in record time, and Lois keeps her promise, pulling some cash out of her wallet. "Thanks," she tells the driver as she hoists herself out of the car, vaguely aware of some pain in the bullet wound in her shoulder.

The car speeds away, and Lois looks up at the familiar building - at its seemingly immeasurable height, topped with a gleaming gold globe, spinning steadily.

It gives her the resolution to ignore the dull ache from her injury. After all, she is supposed to be returning to her old routine - and bullet wounds are not part of that. Bullets fired at her, _maybe_ - those come with the journalism territory. But none are supposed to meet their marks.

But she still loves this place. It feels good to be back.

Once Lois enters the doors and clocks in, she becomes aware that people are staring at her - gaping even. The lobby has fallen silent save a few whispers, and Lois suppresses a shiver. She is supposed to write the news, not make it. Attention is not something she desires. It's something she gets enough of from creepy guys and criminals that she has put away with her stories.

Lois proceeds to the elevators, where she is taken to the top floor of the building. Once the doors opens everyone is staring at her, the area fallen silent once again.

She supposes that the silent treatment is karma for her behavior toward her new neighbor.

Lois steps out of the elevator, trying to ignore the reporters' steady gazes so that she may head directly toward the office of her editor - Perry White. Her heels make clicking sounds as they smack the floor, and the noise is disquieting in the silence.

The lack of sound is especially unnatural for the Daily Planet, which is normally bustling and headache-inducingly loud. It is a place where people scream out current events, or shout accusatory things at the last person to use the copier. That's part of the reason why it always felt like home to Lois. But now...now it's like a tomb in here, and considering the near-death experience Lois recently had, reminders of death are the last things she needs.

"Lois Joanne Lane!" a voice suddenly exclaims. Before she can react, Lois is pulled into a hug by scrawny arms. There is something hard pressing into her stomach, and she recognizes its shape as a camera.

She sighs with false frustration. "Jimmy Olsen, what did I say about using my middle name?"

They pull out of the embrace and stare at each other. Jimmy is smiling broadly, his grin toothy and dimpled. Somehow, it seems like he has more freckles than he used to, but Lois is probably imagining that. One thing she is sure of, though, is that his hair has gotten redder.

Okay, she's probably imagining that too.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demands playfully, waving his arms around in that excited way of his.

The question is very forward, which is a change from the carefully chosen words that she has become used to. It is a welcome change.

"You know where I've been, Olsen. Writing and making headlines. Catching bullets with my bare skin. The usual," she lists off sarcastically, embellishing her joking tone with a nonchalant shrug.

But there is also an unspoken tension in the air, which is evident when Jimmy's smile melts off his face and he clears his throat. The realization hits them both at the same time: if Jimmy had not caught the flu, this reunion would not have occurred. He would be dead. And Tom would be alive.

But Lois suspects that she would still be around, for some strange reason. Obviously the universe has some sort of plan for her.

Then Lois realizes that her suspicion just sounds hokey and dumb, so she dismisses the notion.

As horrible as it is to think, she is glad that Jimmy couldn't go. He is an amazing photographer and a good friend, despite his immaturity. Over their few years of working together, they have become close. Once, she even lent him quite a bit of money to enter some photography competition. To this day, she holds it over his head, claiming it was for blackmail. But in reality, he snaps great photos, even in dangerous situations, and he deserved her help.

She didn't know Tom. Maybe that is a good thing. It makes it easier to let him go.

Breaking out of a reverie, Lois walks past Jimmy, continuing toward Perry's office. "Well, I've got another story to write Jimmy, and I plan to pursue it as soon as possible. So I'm just gonna let Perry know I'm back, then take off again."

"For how long?"

"Calm down. I'm still on the clock. I just can't get the sources I need while I'm here, you know?"

Lois blindly pushes her way into the office, suddenly becoming aware that Perry isn't alone in the room. There is a man sitting in the chair across from the editor's famous desk - a slouching, bulky man with a 1920s-style hat.

Her neighbor. Somehow, he arrived here before her. But...why would he be here at all?

Despite their encounter in the elevator, he turns to her and smiles pleasantly. It is impossible to avoid eye contact now...not that she can make much anyway, considering that thick-framed glasses cover most of his face. Plus, the hat casts shadows over his eyes, thus obscuring his expression further.

God, the man was a fashion disaster…but he _did_ have a nice smile.

"Mr. White," he says, turning away from her. "I believe you have a visitor."

Perry, who was previously reading an article on his computer, finally looks up at her. "Lane?! Is that you?"

His voice is booming, as always.

Lois is still a bit fixated on the man in the chair, so she does not notice when Perry also decides to sweep her into a hug. It is much briefer than Jimmy's, but still - that sort of affection from Perry is practically unheard of.

He steps back and laughs heartily. "Look at ya! My hard-as-nails, double-Pulitzer journalist. Takes a bullet like it's nothing, am I right?"

Perry shoves her lightly on the shoulder - the wrong shoulder. The one with the bullet wound. It is not intentional, of course. Few people even knew where the bullet landed. The only news she released was that it missed her vitals. Her only purpose for doing even _that_ was to get the news to stop capitalizing on her injury...stop making her attack into a media circus, during which the real victims of the massacre - the Quraci people - were ignored.

Nevertheless, Lois winces slightly from his gesture, but does not react more than that. She does not want to worry people, or be coddled. She just wants to get back to normal...and whatever monotony and horrors that normal may bring.

"That's right, chief. I eat bullets for breakfast."

When she glances at her neighbor in the nearby chair, she notices that his eyebrows are knit together, making the shadows on his face more pronounced. He is frowning slightly too.

Somehow, she doubts that he missed her small demonstration of pain.

"Oh wow," Jimmy says. "You've been gone so long...you haven't even met Clark yet."

He begins pulling her toward the man in the chair, who has since stood in anticipation of their official meeting. He is taller than Lois even realized.

"Lois," Jimmy continues, "This is Clark Kent. Clark, this is Lois Lane."

Clark Kent extends his hand to her, hoping for a handshake. "Nice to meet you."

His voice is still quiet...mellow. _He must be very shy_, she thinks as she shakes his hand briefly, and Lois suddenly feels guilty for acting so rudely. But he does not seem bitter about it, so she does not apologize.

"He's been your replacement for the last few months," Perry says. "And to be honest, Lane, you've got some serious competition."

"Competition? You mean he's staying?" Lois asks, trying to keep irritation out of her voice for the sake of politeness. But having this strange man here...well...it was not the sort of normal she was planning on.

"Yeah," Perry says. "You guys can be…er..."

He waves his hand around, like he is searching for the right word. When he does find it, it's the last thing Lois hopes to hear.

"...partners or something."

_Or something_, she thinks frantically. _Definitely or something._

_TO BE CONTINUED..._


	4. Chapter Three - Clark Kent

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N**

**I'd really love if someone could tell me how my dialogue is. I've never written a romance before...and well...I feel like I'm bad at it.**

**Advice on writing is much appreciated too.**

**However, to that one anon who sent me three practical essays on (I think) why Lex Luthor is actually a good guy, or how dictatorships are a good thing in relation to comics? (I honestly don't know. A lot of it seemed like a listing of characters from the DC universe) You will most certainly not like Lex in this story. I'm gonna reveal some stuff about him that should establish his moral corruption pretty soon. But I deleted those reviews because I honestly did not see any relevance to my story. Constructive criticism is always appreciated and I always post it but this seemed like someone was using my story as an outlet for posting their opinions on comics. Sorry, anon. Please make sure your reviews are actual reviews! **

**Now, here's some character development on Clark. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><span>C<span>__HAPTER THREE - CLARK KENT_

Lois stares at this man - at this Clark Kent - with utter disbelief. Partners? How could they possibly be partners? Lois is the best reporter in the city, and despite her age, she has loads of experience. This guy, on the other hand, is a total rookie, having only occupied her position for a few months. No, it wouldn't be a partnership. It would practically be a _babysitting_ arrangement.

Clark doesn't meet her eyes. She suspects that he senses her anger, in some way, even if Perry and Jimmy seem entirely oblivious to it.

"Well what are you standing around for?" Perry suddenly demands in his signature booming voice. "I gave you your assignment, Kent."

"Right away, chief," Clark replies as he begins to leave the office, seemingly tipping his hat farther down - as if to better hide his face.

Perry continues to yell after him: "And I want you to make Luthor _squirm_ with questions! He always seems to charm his way out of the tough ones! Hell, the guy should be a politician, with the way he handles the press."

Lois's mind stops short. Hold on. Perry is giving the tadpole reporter...the scoop? No way. She has worked too hard to become the best reporter in the city, and she has a idea formulating for the next big news revelation. If Kent went to this thing and not her...it might undermine everything she has worked for.

"_Lex Luthor's_ giving a press conference?" Lois exclaims. "Hold up, chief. _I_ was planning to write a story on Luthor. Let me take the assignment." Given, she wasn't really interested in the press conference, which is what Perry wanted the coverage on. But it was her first step in research for a greater story...a story that could change everything, if she finds the information she is looking for.

Besides, she needs to talk to Lex. And she is not prepared to make any sort of personal calls.

Perry shakes his head . "Look, Lane. You're too late. Luthor's giving a press conference on his big new government contract in-" he looks at his watch and his eyes widen. "Holy shit. A half hour. Alright, Kent. You gotta scram."

Clark, who has been patiently waiting in the doorway, nods and proceeds to leave again. But Lois runs in front of him, blocking his path, her arms spread wide. "Nuh-uh rookie. I've got this story covered. Why don't you go write about squirrel populations in the city parks? That seems like a better subject for a man of your...disposition."

"Sorry...but I have to go," Clark stammers a bit, trying to move around her, but Lois just blocks his path again.

"Lane, you can't write about Luthor," Perry interjects loudly. "You're _involved_ with him. There's no objectivity."

Lois feels her face heat up, now that the stares of the entire floor have focused on her again. She can't blame them for gawking, though. She is making quite a scene outside the editor's office, and Perry just announced a potentially gossip-worthy piece of information.

The blush isn't just from embarrassment, though. It is anger toward Perry, toward this new reporter, and most of all...toward Lex.

Jimmy moves beside her and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Lois...it's your first day back. Maybe you should take it easy."

Take it easy? After all the shit that's happened to her...after all the work she's done to become a good reporter, to get a serious job as a woman - and not only that, a young attractive woman - God, she would rather die than ignore the call of a good story. Even after all that's happened. Even after Qurac.

Her anger mounts, and her hands ball into fists. "All of you listen to me _very closely_," she begins, her voice tight as she addresses the entire floor, which remains transfixed on her in morbid fascination - like they are watching a train wreck. "First, I am no longer _involved_ with Lex Luthor in any way, so my objectivity is fine. In fact, it's beyond fine. It's _freaking perfect_.

"Second, this rookie reporter doesn't know the first thing about making Luthor squirm. I _do_. I am the _best_ person for this assignment, and you're not gonna stop me from going.

"And third...I have spent _months_ 'taking it easy,' and I've had enough. I need to feel like I'm doing something worthwhile. And I don't mean doing something in a month, or in a few days, or even tomorrow. I need to feel like I'm doing something worthwhile _right now_."

The entire floor is silent, so Lois can hear her own heavy breaths. She glances around the room - at Perry and Jimmy, whose expressions display a mix of surprise and embarrassment for her.

She decides that she doesn't care what they think. What anyone thinks. There's something that she needs to do, and they're not going stop her.

Suddenly, Clark clears his throat, and begins talking in that careful, diplomatic tone of his.

"Why don't we both go? After all, we're supposed to be partners. And I probably could learn something from you."

It's the kind of suggestion that's supposed to placate her. It's soothing and compromising with just a hint of flattery.

The kind that could get someone to agree to an interview, or reveal more information than they should. Perhaps he had more potential as a reporter than Lois originally thought.

"That's a good plan, Kent," Perry agrees, eying Lois like she might explode at any moment. "But you two better get going."

Clark stares at her...or at least it seems that way, given the shadows from his glasses and his hat. He then extends his arm away from her.

"After you, Miss Lane."

* * *

><p>One thing Lois will say about Clark Kent: he's not scared easily. Once they entered a cab together, Lois told the cab driver that she'd triple the fee for triple the speed. Now she has the distinct impression that the car is hardly touching the pavement, given the way its velocity causes it to shoot upwards whenever it hits a bump.<p>

Thankfully, it is past morning rush hour, but there is always traffic in Metropolis. It's the the biggest city in the world, after all. Just not big enough to fill up the empty backroads that they're traveling through at an approximate speed of one hundred miles per hour.

Lois can never go this fast when Jimmy is with her. He always ends up screaming like a little girl and pleading for the driver to stop. So for a guy as timid as Clark to be entirely unfrightened by a potentially lethal car speed...well, it's just not exactly what she expected.

The silence of the car is beyond awkward, though, and Lois flashes uncomfortably back to their encounter in the elevator. He probably hates her. After all, she pretty much insulted him during their first meeting, and then she proceeded to try to steal his story.

It's not that she cares about what people think about her. In fact, she _loves_ disregarding traditional standards. But she knows there's something shameful in derogating someone who has been nothing but courteous and understanding toward her.

As if he is reading her mind, Clark suddenly speaks up.

"So...I guess we're neighbors _and_ co-workers, huh?" he observes smoothly.

"_There is no 'we'_" Lois recalls herself saying icily, in that elevator only a few hours ago.

Oh, the irony is unbelievable. Because now...now they were definitely _something_. Partners, or whatever Perry wanted to call it.

She glances at Clark, but it is like staring at a wall. His eyes are practically inscrutable behind those glasses, under those shadows. She wonders why he dresses this way...with his baggy, raggedy suit, his overlarge hat, and his enormous glasses. The clothes are almost deliberately ugly, or maybe...concealing. The curious part of her wants to ask about it, but she figures he wouldn't answer her. Especially after the way she has treated him. So she files her questions away for future use. Besides, this guy is probably like...the epitome of average. It's not like his reason would be interesting, wouldn't it?

Alright, well. He has a nice smile. That was above average, she could admit.

But the outfit. _Mother of God_, it had to go.

Clark clears his throat, apparently aware that Lois has not said anything in response, even though she has yet to realize.

She starts a bit upon hearing the sound, and is snapped back to reality - one where Clark Kent's fashion choices don't distract. "Oh yeah. Huh. Neighbors."

Silence.

Lois smacks herself internally. She needs to get on his good side, and she isn't making any progress by giving him the silent treatment.

Because if this guy - this Clark Kent - can really write quality articles, then he _is_ in competition with her. And though some competitions can be good, a _close_ competition with a guy who hates her guts would probably ruin her - especially if the competition got dirty. She might just end up beating him up or something, and then her dad would probably have to pull high-end government strings to get her out of jail. It'd just be a hassle, is all. Plus, she doesn't want to hit a guy with glasses. It simply isn't classy.

"So...in the elevator...I take it you were trying to tell me about your job as my substitute?" Lois offers, eying him carefully.

Clark Kent smirks a little. "Yeah. But then you got a little…"

"Aggressive?" she finishes for him.

"Just a tad."

Lois rubs her forehead, as if she can rub off her humiliation. "I'm sorry," she concedes. "But the last guy who lived in your apartment was quite the perverted drug-dealer. It only takes one bad neighbor to ruin your whole perception. Guess I assumed you were the next Walter White."

"Who's Walter White?"

She gives him a sideways glance. "You know...the guy from that show _Breaking Bad_?"

He shakes his head, and despite the shadows, she can see his eyebrows knit together. "Is that the one about the drug dealers?"

"Yeah. It's great. You should totally watch it."

Clark shrugs. "Sorry. I just don't see anything appealing about romanticizing criminals."

Lois laughs, and he looks inquisitively at her.

"What?"

"Come on," Lois guffaws. "If you hate romanticized criminals, then you must hate all of Shakespeare's works. Or Victor Hugo's. Or Arthur Conan Doyle's. Hell, even Greek mythology. Pretty much every story in history centers around criminals ."

He looks a bit offended at that. "Have you read Greek mythology? It's about _heroes, _not criminals."

"Actually it's about sex-crazed gods, monsters born from those gods, and murderers with swords. But idealists always like to believe it's about _heroes_," Lois points out with a scoff, looking at her nails nonchalantly.

"Well, Miss Lane, I suppose I was raised to look for good in the world. Not bad," Clark says, his voice very disapproving. Almost sassy. It is an unexpected tone from him, and Lois finds it amusing.

"And where exactly is this _mythical utopia_ where Clark Kent was raised?"

"Smallville," he says, as if it's the most obvious fact in the world. There's a also a hint of wistfulness behind his words, like he misses the place - wherever it may be.

"Never heard of it," she declares curtly.

"Really?" he wonders, seeming genuinely surprised. "It's the biggest producer of corn in Kansas. Maybe even the whole country."

Scoffing a bit, Lois returns to her signature sarcasm: "Oh _that_ Smallville. Wow. That's like the Hollywood of the midwest. I hear the tourism's through the roof."

If she could see his eyes, Lois could have sworn that he just rolled them. Perhaps he isn't quite as timid as she was led to believe.

"Is that sarcasm, Miss Lane?"

"What do you think, _Smallville_?"

The car swings violently around a corner, and Lois is forced to grab Clark's shoulder to maintain proper balance in her seat, seeing as she did not use a seatbelt. He doesn't seem to mind at all. In fact, he seems more than inclined to help. But Lois removes her hand very quickly, hoping to avoid making the situation any more awkward. She just managed to fix a bit of the unease between them - it would be horrible to see it all go to waste.

"They invented seatbelts for a reason, Miss Lane," he tells her, sounding rather like a patronizing parent. Evidently he has noticed the reason for her loss of balance.

She glances at him - at the seatbelt that slings from his shoulder to his waist. Jeez, was he a stickler. A nervous nelly. A wet blanket. A...farmboy.

The latter isn't even an insult, mostly because it's true. Besides, he's actually pretty nice for a farmboy.

Finally, the taxi skids to a stop, and the view from the windows changes from a blur to the clear image of the LexCorp Towers, which gleam like silver in the sunlight. Lois continues to stare outside, observing all the reporters and news crews that are filing through the security at the front entrance.

For a moment, she feels slightly nervous. Her presence at the press conference...it is going to be very public. People will probably notice her. Lex is _most definitely_ going to notice her. She hasn't talked to him since her experiences in Qurac…what exactly is she going to say to him? She hasn't thought it through very thoroughly.

But she shakes off the fear. What use is fear anyway? It didn't help her get her job done.

"We should go," Lois suggests to Clark. She removes her purse from her shoulder so she can access her wallet. However, when she glances at Clark, she notices that he is already handing the driver his promised money.

"Whoa, Smallville. I'm the one who said 'triple the fee.' I can pay-"

"It's fine. It's your first day back, so I figured…" He trails off and opens the door to the taxi, thanking the driver as he leaves.

Lois snorts and addresses the driver, resting her elbow on headrest of the shotgun seat. She can see his eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Psh. Midwesterners, am I right?"

The man returns the snort. "They make us city-folks look bad. But hey, if you're feeling guilty, you can pay the fee again."

"In your dreams, bucko," Lois replies as she exits the car.

The movement of lifting herself out of the vehicle irritates her shoulder more than ever. She suppresses the need to cry out by biting her lip, but a noise still escapes. However, instead of a yell, it sounds more like a pained groan. It's not nearly as bad, but still not preferable.

Clark, who is suddenly standing beside her, clearly hears it. He immediately looks concerned. "Are you alright Miss Lane?"

Lois rubs the wound, hoping the pain won't distract from the difficult feat of walking in her high heels. "Yeah. I'm fine."

She approaches the entrance of the Lexcorp Towers, where the security waits. Clark keeps pace with her, and she can sense him looking at that irksome shoulder, which continues to bother her incessantly.

"That's where...where the bullet landed, isn't it?" he whispers solemnly, like he wishes he could have done something to stop it. But he didn't even know her then, so why would he even care?

"What gave it away?" Lois responds, gritting her teeth.

"I didn't mean to pry, Miss Lane. But if you need help I can -"

She stops him short with a hand on his chest. It's surprisingly hard, his chest. Especially since his baggy suit makes him look a bit chunky.

"First off, Smallville, I don't need help. I said I'm fine, and I mean it. The bullet wound didn't kill me in Qurac and it certainly won't kill me here.

"Second, call me _Lois,_ for God's sake. I'm not a damn teacher, even if you are planning to learn from me."

Lois then continues walking inside. It's unsurprising that they don't even need to check her press pass - her fame from her...accident has made her famous. Plus, she's met Lex for lunch in his office far too many times. She could probably name a few of the guards, and they could most certainly name her.

But they're not the only ones who recognize her. She sees some of the other reporters point and whisper - _that's her. That's the woman who got shot._

It makes her angry. Plain and simple. Because these people pretend to be outraged by that kind of injustice...they pretend to want it to end. But in reality, their interest is only morbid curiosity, and it passes as quickly as any trend. People have already forgotten how and why she was shot in the first place.

Clark moves beside her, still seeming concerned. It is somewhat comforting, despite the fact that she barely knows him. "I assume that the shoulder isn't the only thing bothering you?" he says.

Lois sets her jaw and walks confidently toward the Lexcorp elevators. "Not by a long shot, Smallville."

_TO BE CONTINUED..._


	5. Chapter Four - the Promise

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N**

**Hello again! New chapter...and we find out what's up with Lex. Or at least...only a bit of what's really up with him. **

**Not a lot of Clark in this chapter. Sorry. I guess they call it slow burn for a reason. **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

><p><span><em>CHAPTER FOUR - THE PROMISE<em>

Lois walks into the Lexcorp auditorium in the most discreet manner possible. She doesn't stop to talk with the other reporters...doesn't even meet their eyes (or more accurately, their stares). But she does keep her head up - chin raised. The last thing she needs is for people to think that she's broken...that what happened to her broke her.

She finds a seat in the crowd and takes out her notebook. Unfortunately, she suspects that people are still staring at her. But hopefully her focus on her job will remind them to focus on their own.

Clark sits down beside her. Somehow, she suspects that he too does not find pleasure in their attentions. At the same time, though, she fights the urge to hide behind his bulky frame. That way, people would just stop staring. But that would be utterly humiliating for her, so she quickly pushes the notion out of her mind.

As she begins to chew on her pen with nervousness, she feels someone put a hand on her shoulder from behind. Naturally, she jumps and recoils, and a part of her cannot believe that Clark is making some sort of move on her despite the fact that they just met.

Her hand raises, prepared to smack him. Before she can, however, she hears a familiar voice from behind - clearly the owner of the hand on her shoulder, and decidedly not Clark.

"Lois? Is that really you?" Lex asks.

She turns around to get a good look at him, even though she expects that he looks exactly the same. In truth, it's not like he can get a haircut. He is perpetually bald, for some reason, though she has never found the courage to ask why. Maybe it is a personal preference. Maybe it is a condition.

So indeed, when Lois turns, it is entirely predictable that he looks identical to the man she knew months ago, despite all that has changed. The only noticeable difference is his suit, which must be new.

It's unbelievable how much Lois's viewpoints and feelings have changed, even when the two of them remain physically unaltered.

"Hello, Lex," she greets him stoically, before turning back to the awaiting stage, which Lex should be mounting in a few minutes.

Lois expected this to happen. She really did. But somehow, when she wasn't actually near him, imagining an encounter with him seemed easy. But now nervousness has set in, and it is stronger than anything she has ever felt. She fears that she will revert to the person she was when she was with him - a submissive, ignorant woman whose perceptions were overshadowed by those of her boyfriend. After all - she never officially broke up with him. She mostly just avoided his calls...the doctors he sent to Qurac. She pretended he didn't exist.

He is here now, though - clearly and undeniably existing, and it is unbearable.

Acting uncharacteristically childish, Lex climbs over the chair beside her. He now stands directly in front of her, blocking her view of the stage, so she has to look at him. It is an uncompromising gesture.

She sees Lex's eyes glance from Clark to her, trying to assess the situation. Evidently, he finds nothing of interest between the two of them (mostly because they are strangers, and they appear that way), and his view settles on Lois again. His eyes travel up her body in a way that should perhaps be comforting, since there seems to be affection it it - like he is drinking in the sight of her. But it seems all too hungry to her.

"Lois…" he repeats numbly. Then he does something utterly unexpected - he drops to his knees and throws his arms around her. The hug is almost crushing, and Lois is completely speechless. This...this is certainly not how she expected their reunion to occur.

She can feel his breath against her hair. "I've tried to contact you so many times. You've been driving me nuts."

Trying to remain unaffected by the gesture, Lois unhooks his hands from behind her neck and places them at his side. That should send a clear message, but Lex still looks at her hopefully. Why would he look at her any other way? He's Lex Luthor. A billionaire weapons mogul, having inherited his precious company from his rich father. He can have anyone, do anything he wants. She has learned that the hard way.

"We should talk," Lois tells Lex in that same stoic tone, throwing a quick glance Clark's way. He simply looks uncomfortable, but not inclined to pry into their personal business.

Though he must believe that she was lying when she said she was done with Lex, back in the Daily Planet. It's quite clear that Lex doesn't think they're finished. Lois, however, is quite adamant that they are. She just has yet to tell her ex-beau. So in reality, she wasn't lying. Her objectivity is fine. Her emotions toward Lex do not influence her in any way. No way at all. None. Nil. Zero.

So she tells herself.

"Of course," Lex replies. "Let's go."

He grabs her hand and pulls her to her feet, thus starting to drag her toward a nearby room.

"But your press conference-" Lois protests with a glance around the room, in which she sees the even greater number of stares that the two of them are attracting.

Lex rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone with his free hand. Upon pressing a button, he says quickly: "Please tell the press that a personal matter has briefly diverted my attention. I will be with them shortly."

He continues pulling her out, and as they leave, Lois gives Clark an annoyed, apologetic shrug as she tosses her pen and notebook back on the chair. In response, it seems like he gives her a comforting smile. Yes...that is a good way to describe it. It is not not encouraging, but...comforting.

Once she and Lex are inside another room - it seems to be an office, and a terribly underlit and under-decorated at that - Lois pulls her hand out of his grasp. "These people came to see you, Lex. You can't just brush them off like that!"

Lex turns away as he locks the door.

Privacy. She supposes that's good, in a way. And bad in others.

"For you, I can." He spins back toward her, his gaze now a little harsh. "What the hell have you been doing, Lois? Do you know how many times I've tried to call you? The money I spent sending doctors overseas that you -"

He stops himself short, and his voice becomes very quiet. "You know what? That's not important. What's important is that you're okay, and you're here, with me."

Lex moves toward her, brushing her cheek with his hands. They are bone-chillingly cold, and they make her shiver. She cannot stand it.

When she lunges away from him, the movement is almost animalistic. It is unsurprising that he seems stunned at her apparent repulsion, since it is such a drastic change from how she used to act. But if her refusal to talk to him was any indication, he should know by now that she is not the same Lois he knew.

"You know what, Lex?" Lois says carefully, straightening up to fix her hair, which his hands pushed out of place. She is trying to seem casual now, even though every part of her is resisting the urge to throttle him. "I don't think you care whether I'm alive. Whether anyone's alive, in fact."

He squints and looks incredulous at her behavior. She doubts that anyone has acted this way toward him before, and if no one has, she resolves that he's had it coming for a long time.

"What are you talking about, Lois?" Lex asks with a bit of exasperation, as if she is acting unreasonable again - like she always acts unreasonable.

But she has a good reason for behaving this way. No, an incredibly plausible reason. It'd be insane for her not to act this way.

"I think you know," Lois almost yells, but she keeps her voice down to avoid any intervention from nearby reporters. "I mean, you called me that day, didn't you? You were so damn mad that I hadn't gone home. But you and I, we are always busy. Why would it have been a big deal if I had stayed a little while longer? It wouldn't really affect our date schedule. Unless, of course, you knew...you knew that there was danger.

Silence falls as Lex's mouth opens for a moment, but his face becomes emotionless quite quickly thereafter. "What exactly are you insinuating?"

Lois suspects that she might start screeching in rage, given his feigned ignorance. He knows. He most certainly knows what she is insinuating. But she snaps her jaws closed and pulls her bag out in front of her.

For a moment, she sifts through it, searching. She pushes past her new, unopened package of cigarettes, past her makeup, past her cell phone, until she finds it - the ziploc.

Lois yanks it out of the purse with ferocity and holds it up to the light. It is a bronze color, and it still gleams despite the low light. There is no mistaking what it is - a bullet. The bullet that pierced her skin. The bullet that nearly killed her.

She pushes the bag in his face, as if forcing him to look at it - to look at what he's done...done to her...done to the people of Qurac. "You recognize this bullet, Lex? You probably wouldn't...at least not from a firsthand view. It's been in the Lexcorp warehouses since your dad owned this company - that is, until they were shipped off to Bialya in an illegal sale."

Lois watches his face with fascination, taking utter satisfaction in the way his jaw tightens and his eyes narrow. This...this is what she has waited for. She wants to throw it in his face that she's alive, and that she knows he's a horrible, shitty person.

"The bullets are outdated, of course. Extraneous. Biayla could have stolen better ones. But why waste a potential profit?

"So you had someone smuggle guns and ammunition into Bialya, despite the weapons embargo. And that same someone smuggled your new revenue out. It seemed like a clean deal. Nothing to trace back to you. After all, you deleted the records of the stuff's existence from your databases.

"Unfortunately, you never counted on the fact that your father, back when he manufactured those bullets, was trying to market like crazy. So there on the little face of this tiny killing machine-"

Lois holds the bag up to her eyes and spins the bullet from within the plastic. She finds what she is looking for quite quickly, given the fact that she has stared at it for hours on end, back when she was trying to make sense of what happened to her after the attack. But now it is his turn to stare.

So she shoves the bullet back toward his face, her fingernail pointing directly to the symbol of interest.

"-is the Luthorcorp logo. But you never noticed that, of course. You never even bothered to glance at the weapons you nonchalantly sold to actual killers…No...You just saw excess in a damn inventory and said 'drop a load off.' Business is business, after all," she finishes, her voice transitioning from a vicious snarl to a heartbroken murmur.

Lois curls her fist, the bullet now at her side, tightly enclosed between her fingers. She is still whispering when she continues speaking.

"Meanwhile, those guns ended up in the hands of nationalists that killed entire towns. But I'm sure that's of no concern to you, right Lex?"

They stare each other down for a few moments, before Lex speaks up. He gulps before he does so.

"That's quite...quite a few assumptions you are making there, Lois."

Lois laughs derisively before beginning to hiss deliberately. "Assumptions? The only thing that I ever assumed in my life is that I wouldn't have to pull a bullet with, of all things, my boyfriend's last name on it out of my $%# ing shoulder. But clearly I was wrong."

She takes the bullet and places it back in her bag. She will no longer meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry if you feel that I had...some hand in what happened to you. But I assure you, you are wrong."

And he is lying. Lois knows it in her heart, her head, and her gut, and nothing - not his charms, not his good looks, not his money will change that fact. Will change the fact that people in Qurac are dead...that she was almost dead...that Tom is dead.

"...I care about you Lois. I really do. So please...don't be this way."

Go to hell, she thinks as she shakes her head and pushes past him toward the door. Her shaking hand slides the lock out of position. Before she leaves, however, she turns back to him, her voice even and resolute.

"I just want you to know that I'm going to ruin you, Lex. I don't care how long it takes. I don't care who I have to ally myself with. But I am going to tear your reputation to shreds...relegate you to a life of imprisonment. Sadly, the only thing I won't be able to do is make you experience horrors like the ones you are responsible for. A man like you should have tons of guilt...tons of baggage...but you remain utterly unrepentant-and I can't change that."

Lois pulls the collar of her shirt to the side, once again revealing the angry red scar - which seems even angrier in this light. "And this, Lex? This is my baggage. And it's yet another thing you have to answer for. But once again, I promise you...you are going to pay for what you've done."

Instead of asking for forgiveness, he sinks lower. He challenges her.

"You're certainly welcome to try," he says, shooting her an amused smirk.

After that, Lois storms out of the room, leaving Lex smirking after her. A part of her knows that she should return to the auditorium, where Clark is waiting for her. But she can't go there...not now. Not after that emotional episode. The package of cigarettes in her bag is calling her name, and she's in no state to deny them.

_TO BE CONTINUED..._


End file.
